Cold? Let me tell you about real cold

By BRUCE BENSONColumnist

Published: Saturday, January 11, 2014 at 4:30 a.m.

Last Modified: Friday, January 10, 2014 at 3:10 p.m.

With the recent cold snap that enveloped a fair portion of this country, some Fox News commentators have declared global warming theories dead in the water … er … ice. As if one bout of cold weather debunks all the science out there and we can pollute with impunity.

Sure, it’s been cold here in Hendersonville. On Tuesday, schools were closed and portions of Hooterville were without power. It was freezing cold here.

But I’m from Canada, and I can tell you about cold. In fact, being a Canadian in the South, I feel it’s my requisite duty.

Back in my old stomping grounds in Manitoba, the mercury fell to minus 36 on New Year’s Eve — with wind chill it felt like minus 54 — and rose to a balmy minus 24. The North Pole was 10 degrees warmer. Even parts of the planet Mars, 30 million miles farther from the sun than Earth, was warmer. The red planet reached a high of minus 20. Colder than Mars? Unheard of? Not really.

We moved to Hendersonville six years ago. The winter before we came here was an especially cold one. The rules for closing schools due to cold weather were simple up there: If it’s minus 49 with the wind chill, no school.

On three occasions, my kids came running down the stairs in the morning to check the temperature on the television, knowing it was cold and hoping it was cold enough, only to discover it was minus 48. Collective groaning would ensue, and the arduous task of gearing up to make the trek to dreaded school would begin. Layered up against the cold, resembling the Michelin Man, my young ’uns would wobble off to school.

“And we had to go outside at recess,” my daughter reminded me the other day. “This is nothing,” she added with bravado. She must have forgotten how she shivered when I picked her up from school last week.

When I was a boy in school, we would head out on snowshoeing treks upward of 30 miles long in minus-40 degree weather. Even though we knew what to wear and were prepared for it, people froze things. Ears would swell up like cauliflowers and skin would turn black from frostbite. I remember on one occasion Johnson forgot to zip up his pants after relieving himself on the trail and froze his, well, Johnson. The wailing when he thawed out made us all cringe.

Back in 1975, one student, Edward Milligan, died of hypothermia (not a sad story). He was clinically dead for 2½ hours and then revived, earning him the nickname Dedward from then on. At the time, it was said to be the longest any person had been clinically dead and then revived with no apparent damage — other than an understandable revulsion to putting on snowshoes.

Sleeping under the stars in the dead of winter one night 30-some years ago, my friend Mike and I were talking about our hopes and dreams, as boys will, when one of our compatriots poked his head out of his sleeping bag to report that according to his contraband radio, it was 67 below outside. With our heads to a fire that we kept burning all night, we had felt as snug as the proverbial bug, but suddenly we felt cold.

I can remember fishing in the winter on Lake Winnipeg and using a butter knife to put motor oil into the auger we used to drill holes through 4 to 5 feet of ice. The oil had the consistency of butter. It was often so cold that the fish would freeze solid the moment we pulled them from the water.

When I was in college more years ago than I care to remember, my friend and I were trapped in our apartment for three days as a blizzard raged. The army was called out for all emergency transportation — ambulances and police cars were stuck in the snow but tanks could roll.

“All I’d need to get rich,” I remember telling my friend, idleness leading to larcenous thoughts, “is a snowmobile and a hammer. Just smash the glass, take the jewelry and race off in the snowmobile. My tracks would be covered instantly.”

I almost died on a solo 250-mile winter hike on Lake Winnipeg years ago. With only steep cliffs for a shoreline I couldn’t find a place to camp and build a fire, and the sun was almost down. Just before it dropped out of sight, I found a snowmobile trail and followed it to a fisherman’s camp. In 20 minutes, I went from fearing death to sitting on a couch, my feet on a coffee table, clothes hanging to dry and a beer in my hand.

Enough regaling. One winter storm of massive proportions does not mean global warming is not happening. Quite the contrary. Australia is burning up as the U.S. freezes. Climate change is real, global warming is real. How it’s going to mess us up is unknown.

A few years ago, Al Gore said, “Here is the truth: The Earth is round; Saddam Hussein did not attack us on 9/11; Elvis is dead; Obama was born in the United States; and the climate crisis is real.”

Some people don’t believe any of that, and this being a free country, they are welcome to those beliefs. But surely we can all agree that, regardless, we shouldn’t be polluting our tiny little planet.

Bruce Benson is a Canadian writer and journalist who makes Hendersonville his home. Reach him at bensonusa@hotmail.com.

<p>With the recent cold snap that enveloped a fair portion of this country, some Fox News commentators have declared global warming theories dead in the water … er … ice. As if one bout of cold weather debunks all the science out there and we can pollute with impunity.</p><p>Sure, it's been cold here in Hendersonville. On Tuesday, schools were closed and portions of Hooterville were without power. It was freezing cold here.</p><p>But I'm from Canada, and I can tell you about cold. In fact, being a Canadian in the South, I feel it's my requisite duty.</p><p>Back in my old stomping grounds in Manitoba, the mercury fell to minus 36 on New Year's Eve — with wind chill it felt like minus 54 — and rose to a balmy minus 24. The North Pole was 10 degrees warmer. Even parts of the planet Mars, 30 million miles farther from the sun than Earth, was warmer. The red planet reached a high of minus 20. Colder than Mars? Unheard of? Not really.</p><p>We moved to Hendersonville six years ago. The winter before we came here was an especially cold one. The rules for closing schools due to cold weather were simple up there: If it's minus 49 with the wind chill, no school.</p><p>On three occasions, my kids came running down the stairs in the morning to check the temperature on the television, knowing it was cold and hoping it was cold enough, only to discover it was minus 48. Collective groaning would ensue, and the arduous task of gearing up to make the trek to dreaded school would begin. Layered up against the cold, resembling the Michelin Man, my young 'uns would wobble off to school.</p><p>“And we had to go outside at recess,” my daughter reminded me the other day. “This is nothing,” she added with bravado. She must have forgotten how she shivered when I picked her up from school last week.</p><p>When I was a boy in school, we would head out on snowshoeing treks upward of 30 miles long in minus-40 degree weather. Even though we knew what to wear and were prepared for it, people froze things. Ears would swell up like cauliflowers and skin would turn black from frostbite. I remember on one occasion Johnson forgot to zip up his pants after relieving himself on the trail and froze his, well, Johnson. The wailing when he thawed out made us all cringe.</p><p>Back in 1975, one student, Edward Milligan, died of hypothermia (not a sad story). He was clinically dead for 2½ hours and then revived, earning him the nickname Dedward from then on. At the time, it was said to be the longest any person had been clinically dead and then revived with no apparent damage — other than an understandable revulsion to putting on snowshoes.</p><p>Sleeping under the stars in the dead of winter one night 30-some years ago, my friend Mike and I were talking about our hopes and dreams, as boys will, when one of our compatriots poked his head out of his sleeping bag to report that according to his contraband radio, it was 67 below outside. With our heads to a fire that we kept burning all night, we had felt as snug as the proverbial bug, but suddenly we felt cold.</p><p>I can remember fishing in the winter on Lake Winnipeg and using a butter knife to put motor oil into the auger we used to drill holes through 4 to 5 feet of ice. The oil had the consistency of butter. It was often so cold that the fish would freeze solid the moment we pulled them from the water.</p><p>When I was in college more years ago than I care to remember, my friend and I were trapped in our apartment for three days as a blizzard raged. The army was called out for all emergency transportation — ambulances and police cars were stuck in the snow but tanks could roll.</p><p>“All I'd need to get rich,” I remember telling my friend, idleness leading to larcenous thoughts, “is a snowmobile and a hammer. Just smash the glass, take the jewelry and race off in the snowmobile. My tracks would be covered instantly.”</p><p>I almost died on a solo 250-mile winter hike on Lake Winnipeg years ago. With only steep cliffs for a shoreline I couldn't find a place to camp and build a fire, and the sun was almost down. Just before it dropped out of sight, I found a snowmobile trail and followed it to a fisherman's camp. In 20 minutes, I went from fearing death to sitting on a couch, my feet on a coffee table, clothes hanging to dry and a beer in my hand.</p><p>Enough regaling. One winter storm of massive proportions does not mean global warming is not happening. Quite the contrary. Australia is burning up as the U.S. freezes. Climate change is real, global warming is real. How it's going to mess us up is unknown.</p><p>A few years ago, Al Gore said, “Here is the truth: The Earth is round; Saddam Hussein did not attack us on 9/11; Elvis is dead; Obama was born in the United States; and the climate crisis is real.”</p><p>Some people don't believe any of that, and this being a free country, they are welcome to those beliefs. But surely we can all agree that, regardless, we shouldn't be polluting our tiny little planet.</p><p><i>Bruce Benson is a Canadian writer and journalist who makes Hendersonville his home. Reach him at bensonusa@hotmail.com.</p>